


i've got you

by fallingthorns



Series: nature of the spine [5]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Established Relationship, Everybody Lives, Injury Recovery, M/M, Married Life, Physical Disability, Post-Canon, This can be read alone or as part of the series!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:09:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24921343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallingthorns/pseuds/fallingthorns
Summary: Richie feels two warm arms wrap around his upper thighs, and then he feels Eddie’s forehead pressing into the small of his back. Eddie is surprisingly silent in his wheelchair, especially when Richie is distracted.“Sweetheart,” Eddie mumbles into his back, his hands rubbing at Richie’s lower stomach, inching up under the front of his shirt. “Please talk to me. I know something is bothering you.”--Eight years post-clown, and Richie feels like he needs a change. Something to motivate him. Luckily, he has Eddie to help.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: nature of the spine [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1770034
Comments: 21
Kudos: 144





	i've got you

**Author's Note:**

> This was SUPPOSED to be short. I should really know better by now. This is basically 21k words of married fic with some plot sprinkled in.
> 
> Welcome to the Richie's POV <3 This fic can be read alone or as part of the Nature of the Spine series.
> 
> If you are reading this without the rest of the series, welcome! Here's what you need to know: Eddie survived the clown but sustained a complete spinal cord injury. His legs do not work without braces and he uses a wheelchair for most of his mobility. 
> 
> Content warnings: emet (it's only mentioned); brief alcohol mentions

* * *

_5 years, 20 years, come back_ _  
It will always be the same_

 _-Brother_ by Kodaline

* * *

SEPTEMBER 2024

Richie scrubs a hand over his face and sighs, looking up at the ceiling in the conference room of the Netflix studio. After a two-hour long meeting filled with too many thoughts thrown around, too many numbers and statistics and demands, Richie is now the only one in the conference room. Everyone else has trickled out with a handshake and a polite goodbye, and now Richie is by himself.

He’s been doing this for years now, even since before Derry, so he should be used to it. He really should expect them to think about money and timing and what the “people” want. It’s better now than it used to be, now that he’s under new management and is writing his own material, but he still feels like he doesn’t have total control. They want him to have a new special written by the end of October, and they’re talking of scheduling him a two-week tour shortly after its release. He’s done out of state shows, but he hasn’t gone on a tour since before . . . well, since before Derry.

Richie looks down at his notepad, reading over the notes he took during the meeting. It’s not that he doesn’t want to do a tour. He loves to perform live, of course he does, that’s why he wanted to do this in the first place. He just doesn't know if he has it in him anymore to be on the road for that long. He is almost fifty years old now, and the best parts of his day are when he gets to go home to his husband.

Richie smiles as he thinks of Eddie, who is probably at work right now typing away at his computer or in a meeting. Eddie, his beautiful, asshole of a husband who he loves more than anything. Richie knows Eddie would be fine if he went on a tour; Eddie can take care of himself, and their friends are always willing to drive him if Richie isn’t around. But he knows they are codependent, beyond the physical codependence that outsiders may assume they have just by looking at them.

No, Eddie isn’t the reason for not wanting to do a tour. Richie thinks that he himself is the holdup.

He feels like he’s treading through quicksand. The past few years have been busy and filled with shows and specials and events, and it almost feels like he hasn’t really sat still and reflected on anything until right now.

He loves to make people laugh. He loves seeing them laugh and light up at something he says, and he loves how he feels knowing he made someone feel like that. It’s great, but lately, Richie feels like it’s not enough.

He feels stagnant. Sure, he does a few shows weekly, he has several comedy specials on Netflix now, he’s done shows out of state, he’s been on talk shows. But it feels almost monotonous now. Just another day at his job; another crowd to make laugh. It’s not giving him the same satisfaction it was before, and he really can’t even pinpoint when exactly that feeling of exhilaration he used to have about his job started going away. Richie thinks that this is probably what burnout feels like. He’s heard of it, but he always told himself he would only do something he was passionate about. Especially since Derry, he does not want to waste any more of his life just going through the motions. He has something to live for now.

As if on cue, Richie’s phone rings from where it’s set face down on the table next to him. He flips it over and smiles when he sees Eddie’s name on the screen.

“Hey, my tiny gremlin man,” Richie says with a grin, gathering his stuff up and heading out of the conference room. “I was just thinking about you.”

“Hey,” Eddie’s voice sounds through the phone. “I’m on lunch and just thought I would call. How did the meeting go?”

Richie tells him about the meeting, walking towards his office and shutting the door behind him and flopping into his chair.

“A tour?” Eddie says once Richie gets to that part, and Richie thinks his voice sounds a little higher than before.

“Yeah,” Richie replies, pulling his lunch out of his minifridge and opening the lid. “I don't think I’m going to do it, though.”

“Why not?” Eddie says quickly, and Richie can almost picture him furrowing his brow at him. “Don’t not do it just because of me, you know I’ll be fine –”

“It’s not you,” Richie replies. “I know you can handle yourself, baby. I mean, I would hate being away from you just because I like being around you, I just . . . I don’t know if that life is for me anymore.”

Eddie is silent, and Richie can hear him chewing what he assumes is the salad he brought for lunch. He only knows because Eddie packed him the same exact thing.

“Anyway,” Richie says once the silence gets to be too much. “I’ll pick you up on my way home. Do you want to pick up some takeout so we don’t have to cook tonight? I’m feeling snuggly.”

“Sure,” Eddie replies. “I’ll see you then.”

“Sounds good,” Richie says. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart.”

Richie smiles and hangs up the phone, letting it fall to his desk before dropping his head into his hands. He’ll figure it out, he always does. But he actually has no idea what he’s going to do.

The rest of the day passes in a blur. Richie has a few more meetings and phone calls, and then he’s heading out of the office and is on his way to Eddie.

Richie thinks he really should think about Eddie more often. He’s always there in Richie’s brain, of course he is, but thinking about Eddie makes Richie forget about everything that is stressing him out at the time. Eddie is his constant, his solid and strong rock. Eddie, who has worked so hard to get where he is, who loves Richie for who Richie is in his core, without all the fog and mirrors that surround his life as a public figure. Eddie, whose own life was turned upside down but who wanted to be with Richie anyway.

Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

They’ve been married for five years now, having celebrated their five-year anniversary just a few weeks ago now. Richie smiles and spins the wedding ring on his finger as he pulls into the parking lot of Eddie’s work. Five years feels both like forever and like no time at all. Richie still looks at him and feels his heart constrict in his chest. He has so much love for Eddie that he doesn’t know what to do with most of the time.

Richie parks in front of Eddie’s building, smiling as he sees Eddie rolling out of the door and making his way towards him. Richie hops out of the car and goes around to the passenger side to open the door for him.

“Hey,” Eddie says once he’s within reach, tugging at Richie’s sleeve to pull him down. Richie crouches down in front of him so he’s at eye level with him and smiles when Eddie takes his hand. Richie brings it up to his mouth to press a kiss to the back of his hand before smiling at him.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Richie says with a grin, smiling even more when he sees the pink flush spread across Eddie’s cheeks. Richie cups Eddie’s head with his free hand and leans in to kiss him.

He feels Eddie smile against his mouth before kissing him back, his free hand fisting in the front of Richie’s shirt to hold him closer. He knows they act like newlyweds still, but, when you go almost thirty years without even remembering your best friend and the love of your life, and then they almost die as soon as you remember everything, you do kind of want to make every single fucking second count.

They pull apart eventually, Richie watching the rise and fall of Eddie’s chest as he regains his breath. They almost didn’t have this for so many reasons, with Eddie almost dying being one of the biggest ones. He thinks about it almost every single day, thanking every single thing in the universe that made it so that Eddie was here with him, living and breathing and loving him.

“You’d think I would be tired of kissing you by now,” Eddie says softly and breathily as he looks at Richie’s mouth again. “I’ve been kissing you for, what, seven years now?”

“You can never get tired of kissing the Trashmouth,” Richie says with a grin, pressing one more quick kiss to Eddie’s mouth before standing back up. “I’ve been told that’s physically impossible.”

“Oh yeah?” Eddie says as he rolls towards the car. He does a quick transfer into the passenger seat, and Richie grabs his wheelchair and folds it up, putting it in the back and getting in next to Eddie. “Who’s been telling you that, huh? Your secret lovers?”

“All five of them,” Richie says with a laugh, smiling when Eddie grabs his hand over the center console and holds it, folding their fingers together. “They send their love.”

Eddie laughs and squeezes his hand, and they start squabbling over what they want for dinner. Once they finally decide on Italian takeout, they drive to the restaurant in silence. Richie glances over at Eddie, and he doesn’t know why he is surprised when he sees Eddie looking at him.

“What?” Richie says, his forehead scrunching at Eddie as he looks at him. “Why are you staring at me?”

“Can’t I just stare at my husband?” Eddie says with a huff, crossing his arms over his chest. “He’s hot.”

“You’re delusional,” Richie replies, squeezing Eddie’s hand. “He’s a giant middle-aged man with sprinkles of gray hair and a soft belly.”

“Like I said,” Eddie quips back. “Hot.”

Richie shakes his head and quickly runs into the restaurant to get their food. He hands the bag to Eddie once he’s back in the car and begins the short drive home.

Richie feels tired and worn-out. The meetings drained him, and he isn’t sure what he’s going to do about it. He knows his manager will pitch a fit when he says he doesn’t want to do a tour; he knows Netflix will pitch a fit when he says he doesn’t even have a draft for a new show yet. He doesn’t want to deal with any of it right now.

They drive home in silence, Richie smiling a little as Eddie sneaks a roll out of the carryout bag and eats it. Once in the driveway, Richie parks the car and goes to get Eddie’s wheelchair out of the back, taking the bag of foot from him so that he can transfer into the chair.

Richie just likes to watch Eddie do these things. He knows Eddie doesn't need help with very much, and it took them a bit of time to figure out boundaries; for Richie to realize that Eddie doesn’t need help with everything, and for Eddie to realize that it’s okay for him to accept help when he does need it. But they figured it out, and now they are like finely oiled machine of just knowing.

Eddie does these things seamlessly though, and it amazes Richie how much he is able to do. He worked hard to get where he is – countless physical and occupational therapy appointments, exercises, and practice, and everything Eddie does is just second nature to him now. He makes everything look so easy when Richie is sure he would fall flat on his face attempting to do some of the things Eddie has to do. Richie is so proud of him.

They go into the house, Richie flipping the light on and kicking off his shoes at the door. Eddie rolls himself to the cabinet to grab plates and glasses for them and brings them to the table.

They eat in silence, and Richie can feel Eddie watching him. He doesn’t know why he feels like this right now; this isn’t the first day his meetings have driven him to the edge, but he feels different. He feels like everything is lackluster, and when he thinks about doing another Netflix special or a tour, it just doesn’t send the sparks of energy into him that it used to.

Richie glances at Eddie, watching as he eats his gnocchi. He seems content in the silence, and he smiles at Richie when he glances up at him and sees him looking at him.

“Do you want to talk about whatever’s bothering you?” Eddie asks, taking another bite of gnocchi.

Richie always wonders how Eddie knows exactly what he’s thinking. But, they’ve kind of always been like that, haven’t they? Even in middle school, it always felt like it was Eddie and Richie and then the rest of the Losers.

“Is it about the tour?” Eddie asks when Richie doesn’t respond. Eddie sets his fork down and crosses his arms on the table, looking at Richie.

Richie sighs and takes a shaky breath as he eats the last bite of his lasagna. He gets up and takes his plate to the sink, his back to Eddie as he rinses it off and puts it in the dishwasher. His mind is whirring at a thousand miles per hour, but he can’t find a single sentence to say to Eddie right now about what he’s thinking or feeling.

He feels two warm arms wrap around his upper thighs, and then he feels Eddie’s forehead pressing into the small of his back just above his ass. Richie smiles and turns the sink off, setting the towel down.

Eddie is surprisingly silent in his wheelchair, especially when Richie is distracted. He likes to come up and hold Richie like this, and Richie likes to make fun of him about nuzzling his ass.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie mumbles into his back, his hands rubbing at Richie’s lower stomach, inching up under the front of his shirt. “Please talk to me. I know something is bothering you.”

Richie turns and leans down to press a kiss to the top of Eddie’s head. “Let’s go sit down,” he says. Eddie backs up and rolls toward the couch, easily transferring over onto it and patting the space next to him for Richie.

Richie smiles at him softly and makes his way over to the couch, sitting next to him and laughing a little as Eddie immediately clings to him. “You said you felt snuggly when we were on the phone earlier,” Eddie says, nuzzling his chest. “So snuggle me, dickwad.”

Richie lets out a laugh as he wraps an arm around Eddie and leans back into the couch cushions. He takes a deep breath to get his muscles to relax, closing his eyes for a second. He can feel Eddie looking up at him from where he’s resting against Richie’s chest, and Richie tries to figure out how to say what he wants to say.

Richie runs his hand up and down Eddie’s back, feeling along his spine as he leans down to press another kiss to the top of his head. Eddie’s hand is rubbing Richie’s chest, and Richie feels a trail of warmth that follows Eddie’s hand as it moves.

He wonders where he might be without Eddie right now, if Eddie had decided to go back to his old life after Derry, or if Eddie and Richie didn’t become the Eddie and Richie they are now. He would probably still be in his old house, too many bedrooms for just one person, too much space for him to occupy by himself. He wonders if he would still be writing his own material, or if he would have just kept going about his business as he was before. He doesn’t know where he would be, but he’s glad he doesn’t have to find out.

Eddie obviously had to change in order to adjust to his new situation. He had a lot of changes happen at once, and Richie remembers being there throughout all of them. Within months, Eddie simultaneously got a divorce, quit his job, moved across the country to California, and was told he was going to spend most of his future life in a wheelchair. He had to learn how to do simple things all over again and how to live with his new life.

But Richie thinks that he’s changed, too. Obviously not in the same ways that Eddie’s had to change, but in different ways. He remembers when Eddie woke up in the hospital, after being in a medically induced coma for a week after his surgery, and as soon as his eyes opened, Richie told himself he was going to live. He’d been living before, sure, but he was really going to live now. He had friends and he _remembered_ his friends. He had Eddie back in his life, and he almost lost him again when he had only just got him back. He wasn’t going to lose him again. He didn’t want to just go through the motions of life anymore, he wanted to _live_.

So Richie and Eddie changed and adjusted together. Richie, who spent his whole adult life closed-off and using humor as a coping mechanism, and Eddie, who spent his whole adult life as a fireball of unspent energy, working overtime every day to avoid thinking about how monotonous his life had become.

But now, Richie seems to be finding that his feelings of stagnancy are coming back, and he doesn’t know why. Maybe it’s because he loves to see Eddie so passionate about his job, because Eddie really does _love_ his job. He loves to organize the events for the United Spinal Association. He loves meeting with other individuals with spinal cord injuries as part of their mentorship program. He loves it, and he gushes about it to Richie regularly. Eddie spent his whole adult life before Derry in a job with financial security but no passion, and Richie is so thankful Eddie now has something to be passionate about.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie whines from his chest. He brings his hand up to Richie’s cheek, sitting up and looking him in the eyes as his thumb strokes his cheek. “Please. I can tell something’s bothering you. I know your tells.”

And Richie knows that Eddie knows his tells. He’s known Richie’s tells since they were kids, of course he knows what Richie is feeling at all times.

Richie turns his head to kiss the tip of Eddie’s thumb, giving him a soft smile as Eddie smiles gently at him.

“You’re getting scruffy,” Eddie tells him, stroking his cheek again.

“I’ll shave if you don’t like it,” Richie says.

“No, I don't mind,” Eddie replies. “I think it makes you look handsome. But I like you always.”

Richie is quiet for a few more minutes, feeling the rise and fall of Eddie’s chest as he rests back against Richie. Eddie knows he’ll talk once he has the words, so it seems that he’s just going to wait while enjoying the comfort of Richie’s chest.

Richie doesn’t know what his problem is. He tells Eddie everything; they talk about everything and they don’t see the point of not keeping the other in the loop about what’s happening with their jobs and their lives. It’s easy for them now, so Richie doesn't know why he just can’t think of what to say.

He doesn’t want Eddie to be disappointed in him. Eddie has been his number one supporter, listening as Richie tests new material on him and telling him honestly if it sucks or not. Not that he thinks Eddie _will_ be disappointed in him. He just feels disappointed in himself.

This was his passion. He worked his whole life to be successful, and he is successful and has been successful for a long time now. It just feels like it’s missing something now, a certain flare that made Richie love his job.

He feels Eddie press a kiss to his chest, and Richie looks down at him. Eddie is looking up at him with those big eyes again, but he doesn’t say anything this time. Richie loves him and wants to kiss him, so he does.

Eddie hums against his mouth, one of his hands coming up to hold Richie’s head in place. He pulls away after a few seconds, far enough away that he can talk but close enough that Richie feels his lips brush against his with every word.

“I love you,” Eddie says softly.

Richie nods, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against Eddie’s. “They want me to do a tour. And a new Netflix special. Both of which require a new show.”

Eddie hums, keeping their foreheads pressed together and running his hand through Richie’s hair. “Two separate shows?”

Richie nods. “Yeah. They think I have one draft already written.”

“But you don’t?”

“No, I, ah . . .” Richie trails off, inhaling the smell of Eddie to ground him. “I told them I did. I’ve been trying to write but nothing has been coming to me.”

“Usually that’s the part that just comes to you easy,” Eddie murmurs, pressing a kiss to Richie’s jaw.

“I know, but I didn’t want them to think I didn’t have _anything_ , because they’d be mad as fuck,” Richie says, closing his eyes at the feeling of Eddie’s lips on his jaw.

“And you don’t want to go on tour?” Eddie asks.

“No, that part I’m sure about,” Richie replies. “I don’t think tour life is for me anymore. I haven’t done it in eight years, I don’t really want to start again now.”

Eddie hums against his jaw, pressing another kiss to it. “Other than the writing, I don’t see any problems here, sweetheart.”

“I just can’t think of anything,” Richie says with a sigh, leaning back against the couch cushions and bringing Eddie with him. He scoops Eddie up from where he’s seated next to him, sliding him onto his lap. Richie wraps both of his arms around him and holds him close, and Eddie rests his head on Richie’s shoulder. “I don’t know. It’s hard to put into words which is why I haven’t said anything but. Something feels like it’s missing.”

Eddie presses a kiss to his shoulder. “Are you getting bored?”

“I don't know if it’s boredom, just . . . I don’t feel the same when I write or when I’m in front of the audience. It feels like it’s just a . . . job.”

“Ah,” Eddie says, like he’s finally understanding what Richie himself doesn't understand. “You’re burnt out.”

Which Richie did consider, he thought those words himself, but he never thought he would be one to get burned out. He loves his job, he really does. Why was he getting burnt out now?

“You’ve been doing it for a long time, Rich,” Eddie says, his head still resting on Richie’s shoulder. “I’m honestly surprised this didn’t happen sooner. You’ve been going hard for years now.”

“I had breaks,” Richie says. “And I took that time off after, ah, after Derry. And then I revamped my shows and started writing my own stuff, so that kind of felt like a new career.”

Eddie hums. “You’re missing the passion.”

“Maybe,” Richie says with a shrug, Eddie’s head jostling as Richie’s shoulder moves up and down. “I don’t know how long it’s been missing, though. I might have felt like this for a while now and am just now realizing it.”

“Possible,” Eddie replies. He leans forward to press a kiss to Richie’s jaw again, and Richie wonders if Eddie likes his stubble a little more than he’s letting on. “I haven’t seen you trying to write much, now that I think about it.”

“No thoughts up here,” Richie says, knocking on his head. “It’s all empty.”

“And here I thought I was your muse.”

Richie laughs quietly, turning his head to look at Eddie. “Sometimes you are. You can’t be my muse all the time though, otherwise I would just be writing love stories.”

“Hm,” Eddie says. “You’re a sap.”

“So you like to tell me.”

“And you’re a dick,” Eddie quips.

“That is my name.”

“Nobody calls you Dick as a name,” Eddie argues. “Literally nobody. Only as an insult.”

“I could go by Dick if I wanted.”

“For fuck’s sake, please don’t.”

Richie laughs, and Eddie smiles against his jaw.

“What are you passionate about, Rich?” Eddie asks quietly once his laughter quiets down.

“You,” Richie replies instantly, because it’s true. He is passionate about Eddie. He loves him, loves him, loves him, Loves him with a capital L. He’s loved him since they were kids, since he could even fathom what love was. He’s passionate about Eddie and how fast he talks, how defensive he gets about the things he likes, how hard he’s worked to get where he is today and how much he’s embraced what his life is now. Eddie makes regular appearances in his sets, of course he does, but Richie often has to be careful to tread the line between too sappy and funny without veering too far onto either side.

“I know that, idiot,” Eddie says with a huff. “That’s not what I meant.”

“But it’s true,” Richie says with a shrug. “You are what I’m passionate about. Everything I do has you somewhere in it. You’re part of me.”

And Eddie has been part of him for as long as he can remember. He thinks even when he didn’t remember Eddie, he was still there somewhere, influencing how he thought and felt and acted. He helped to create Richie’s humor growing up, playing off of him and matching him for insults and jabs. He’s always been present whether Richie has known it or not.

Eddie hums, running his hand along Richie’s chest. “What do you feel like you need to do here, sweetheart? I’m not sure how to help you.”

Richie thinks. He knows he wants to do something useful. Something good. Making people laugh is good, of course it is, but he thinks he wants something different. Something to help people like so many people have helped him and Eddie.

Richie doesn’t respond, unsure of what to say and how to put it into words.

“Come volunteer at my work,” Eddie says after a moment. “They’re always looking for people. I’m not sure what they’d have you do, but I can ask Melissa tomorrow and see what she says. I’m not sure if that’s what you want, but it might take your mind off of everything else for at least a little bit of time during the week.”

Richie blinks, thinking about what Eddie just said. What would he even do there? What use would he be for the United Spinal Association? His only experience is with Eddie, which . . . well, now that he thinks about it, that _is_ a lot of experience. He’s been there with Eddie since the start. He’s seen it all and experienced it all right alongside of him from the outside. He does know a thing or two about it.

“Maybe,” Richie says after a minute, rubbing his hand up and down Eddie’s side. “I don’t know what I could do.”

“I’m sure they can find something,” Eddie says, lifting his head up and mouthing at Richie’s jaw again. “I’ll see what I can get you.”

Richie isn’t sure that this is the solution, but it’s at least something. Something different, something to maybe get him out of his funk.

“Thanks,” Richie says, bringing a hand up to cup the back of Eddie’s head. “For everything.”

“You never have to thank me,” Eddie replies, pressing another kiss to his jaw. “I just do it because I love you and would like to keep our current lifestyle. Can’t do that if you lose your job.”

Richie laughs and pulls Eddie into a kiss, keeping him close with the hand on the back of his head. Eddie hums into his mouth before pulling back, trailing kisses down Richie’s jaw again.

“Is my scruff doing something for you, Eds?” Richie asks with a huff. “You have not been able to keep your mouth off of it all night.”

“Maybe,” Eddie replies, sucking a kiss right under Richie’s ear. “That a problem?”

“Absolutely not,” Richie says, ducking his head to kiss Eddie again, all tongue and lips and teeth until Eddie turns to putty in his lap.

This, Richie thinks as Eddie kisses him, is what he’s passionate about.

* * *

Richie gets a call from Eddie’s boss the next day, all but begging him and thanking him for wanting to volunteer with them. They’re short staffed right now, apparently, and she says they could use all extra hands they can get.

So just like that, Richie is now a volunteer at the United Spinal Association.

It starts pretty simple, with him just helping them distribute fliers, stuff goodie bags, and the like. It isn’t exhilarating work, but it’s something to keep his hands and mind busy when it could be wandering elsewhere.

He only does it for a few hours a week, but Richie has to admit that there’s something he loves about sitting across from Eddie’s desk and doing whatever task he’s been given right across from his husband. He likes watching Eddie while he works, and he likes when Eddie will look up and catch him staring. Eddie will give him a smile before returning back to his computer, and Richie will return to his task.

But after a week of doing simple tasks, they apparently decide Richie is much more useful than just handing out fliers and stuffing bags.

They start bringing him to events, conferences and open houses where they set up an informational table with posters and fliers and items to advertise the association. They try to get people interested in supporting them and spreading the word to others who might be interested in supporting or joining them. And Richie, surprisingly, has a lot to say on the topic. Or maybe it isn’t so surprising, since Richie’s greatest talent is his ability to talk.

He channels his love and awe of Eddie into everything he says about the association and what it stands for and how important of a cause it is. He answers questions at events, and he’s even able to initiate some conversations with people who might just be checking out their table.

“I think they just use me for my body,” Richie says as he eats lunch across from Eddie in his office. He had a meeting with his manager this morning, and as soon as it was done, he made his way over to the association building to get his mind off of everything. “They just like me to carry all the stuff.”

“I mean, you are a large man,” Eddie says, his eyes scanning up and down Richie’s torso. “Strong, too.”

“Reign it in, Spaghetti,” Richie says with a laugh. “We’re at your place of work.”

“It’s not my fault you look like that,” Eddie says with a shrug. “Everyone knows we’re married anyway. I talk about you constantly and you follow me around like a puppy when you’re here.”

Richie laughs again, and this alone is enough to make him thankful for his time as a volunteer here. He sees Eddie more now than he has in years.

Once they’re done eating, Richie realizes he doesn't really have a reason to return to his manager’s office or to the Netflix office. He’s done with his meetings for today, and all they want is for him to finish the final drafts of his new specials.

Which, Richie really should get started on those since everyone seems to think they exist already.

Richie pulls his laptop out of his bag and sets it on Eddie’s desk. Eddie looks up from his computer and raises an eyebrow at him.

“Can I stay here?” Richie says, wanting to make sure he won’t be bothering Eddie. “I don’t have to, but I just. Like to be near you.”

Eddie hums and smiles at him. “Of course,” he says. “If your typing starts to drive me fucking insane, I’ll let you know.”

Richie laughs again and opens his documents as Eddie returns to his work. He pulls up a blank document and stares at it. This is what he has been doing for months now, just staring at his cursor on the screen and hoping the words will start coming to him.

“Just write what comes to you, sweetheart,” Eddie says casually, still staring at his computer and clicking away at the screen. “Don’t think so hard. I can feel you thinking from over here.”

“Everything that just comes to me is about you,” Richie says with a sigh. “Stop being so fucking perfect and maybe this would be easier.”

“Oh, sure, blame it on me,” Eddie replies. “I can’t help it that you’re so obsessed with me.”

“I hate you,” Richie replies, but he starts typing what Eddie just said on the page because it was funny. Eddie is always funny, insulting and jabbing at Richie better than anyone Richie has ever met.

Richie looks at Eddie for a second as a thought runs through his mind, there and gone almost before Richie can even register it. Eddie is his passion, obviously, in more ways than one. He’s funny and witty and he has a short fuse and a lot of anger, but he’s soft and he loves Richie more than anything. Eddie could write a whole book about Eddie and all of his intricacies. But Richie is not a novelist, he doesn’t have the gift of prose. He likes short quips and verbal stories, but describing the surroundings of something and the feelings of characters are not how he likes to spend his time. Too bad, because he could write pages and pages just using Eddie’s characteristics and his thoughts about Eddie as fodder for his writing. What he writes doesn’t have to be about Eddie specifically, but Eddie is in everything he does whether he knows it or not.

But not everything he writes has to be a comedy special or a book. There are more things to write in this world, and that is the thought that Richie almost misses.

He stares at his document with wide eyes. Eddie’s quote of “I can’t help it that you’re so obsessed with me” stares back at him from the page, the cursor blinking next to it, waiting for more words to come from Richie’s fingers.

No, maybe Richie can’t help that he’s so obsessed with Eddie, because who wouldn’t be? But he thinks he can maybe channel that into something else.

And Richie starts typing. His fingers fly across the keyboard as he types, his brain working at a hundred miles an hour as his thoughts come and then move to his hands to be transferred onto the computer. He feels almost unhinged.

“Whoa,” Eddie says after a few minutes, looking up from his own computer to look at Richie. “I actually didn’t know you could type so fast.”

“Oh, yeah,” Richie replies, still typing. “I can actually type over 100 words per minute, but that’s not a skill I have to use very often.”

“Must be those long fingers,” Eddie muses, and then he’s looking at Richie again with a smirk on his face.

“Dude, seriously,” Richie scoffs with a groan. “You can’t say shit like that when we’re not at home. What has gotten into you today?”

“But we’ll be home later,” Eddie says, smiling at Richie in a way that Richie thinks is just evil.

“You are the devil.”

Eddie hums, smiling to himself and biting his lip before looking at Richie again. “What are you writing, anyway?” Eddie asks, grabbing Richie’s computer and trying to spin it around. Richie grabs it and holds it in place, biting his lip when Eddie raises an eyebrow at him.

“It’s, uh, it’s nothing right now,” Richie says quickly. “Sorry, I mean, you’ll see it eventually, but for now it’s just . . . for me? If that’s okay?”

Richie doesn’t want Eddie to be offended that he won’t let him see it. He just wants to keep this to himself for now until he’s sure this is even something.

“Of course, Rich,” Eddie says, going back to his computer with a smile. “Just let me know when it’s ready for me to see.”

The way Eddie says that, not _if_ it’s ready for him to see, but _when_ it’s ready for him to see, makes Richie’s heart soar a little. Eddie is confident that he has something and that Richie will absolutely be ready to show it to him eventually.

But for now, he wants to keep it to himself that he was just struck with inspiration and is drafting a screenplay for . . . something.

* * *

The weeks pass, and Richie finds himself busier and busier with each passing of the moon. He’s writing the screenplay even if he has no idea what it could be for – movie? Show? Limited series? All he knows is that it’s _something_ and it’s coming to him more naturally than any writing he’s done the past few months. When he’s sitting and typing on his computer in the evenings, Eddie will glance over at him and smile without prying. He knows Richie is doing something, and Eddie isn’t dumb. He knows it doesn’t take Richie this long to write one of his comedy sets. He knows it’s _something_ , but he’s willing to wait for Richie to come to him with it.

Richie also becomes involved in the support group for caregivers that’s offered through the United Spinal Association. Melissa asks him to act as a moderator, someone to keep the conversation moving but who also would fit in and be able to contribute to the conversations. Richie never attended one himself, not even in the beginning when Eddie did need more assistance; he’s never really considered himself as a _caregiver_. He helped Eddie more in the beginning, sure, but Eddie was determined to do as much as he could independently. He never considered the word caregiver and saw himself as the definition. It just wasn’t what he was, and it wasn’t what their relationship dynamic was.

But after the first few sessions of acting as a moderator for the support group, Richie realizes there’s a lot more to being a caregiver than just physically caring for someone. These people watch those they love with fear and sadness as they trek forward into a world of unknowns and unfamiliarity. It’s about providing companionship and helping one another, trading anecdotes and tips for how to navigate this new world they were thrown into as well.

Not everyone is as lucky as Eddie, and they both realize that ‘lucky’ is a relative term, but Eddie and Richie both acknowledge that Eddie’s situation could be worse. Some of the loved ones of these individuals can’t breathe without a ventilator, can’t use their arms, are completely dependent on someone else for survival. They talk about coping and dealing with tragedy, adjusting to their new lives, conversations that need to be had sooner rather than later, setting boundaries, and the importance of communication.

Richie is actually surprised by how much he has to contribute. He and Eddie have navigated through this on their own, with the help of physical therapists and psychologists and social workers, of course, but apparently, they did it rather well. Every meeting, he hands his phone number to any new attendees, telling them to call or text him at all hours of the day, whenever they might need someone to talk to. He knows the feeling of having to watch a loved one go through this, and he wonders how he would have handled the whole thing if he didn’t have Bev and Stan and Ben and Patty and Mike and Bill to hold on to. He remembers calling Bev crying in the middle of the night the second night Eddie was back in the house, telling her he didn’t know what to do and didn’t think he was qualified for this. He remembers texting Bill an SOS message when he needed to step out, when Eddie got so frustrated at him for trying to help and Richie didn’t know what else to do other than to take a walk, but he was afraid to leave Eddie alone. He wants people to have the support that he had, so he becomes that support himself if they need it.

So Richie writes and attends the support groups. He still attends conventions with the association, acting as the muscle to carry the tables in the building and the fielder of questions when necessary. He has meetings with his agency and with Netflix, and he still stares at the blank screen of his next comedy special before clicking back to the screenplay. He really is going to get fired, and soon, if he doesn't at least have a draft of his next show within a few weeks. But his brain just won’t spit anything out onto the screen.

It’s not until the beginning of October that Richie is struck with inspiration. He’s in a meeting at the United Spinal Association, a full staff meeting that includes all employees, interns, and volunteers. Richie sits next to Eddie in the conference room, his hand resting on Eddie’s thigh as they listen to Melissa talk about their plans for the next business quarter. Eddie looks over at him and gives him a soft smile, and Richie sticks his tongue out at him, causing Eddie to roll his eyes and give his attention back to the front.

“I think we need something big,” Melissa says from where she’s standing in front of them. “Some event or something to raise a few extra funds.”

“What if we did some kind of pro bono clinic?” Luke says from where he’s seated on Eddie’s other side. Luke, fifteen years their minor and who started as an intern, is now a full-time employee at the association and has become a good friend of Eddie’s throughout their years of working together. “I could ask Morgan, see if she has any thoughts?”

Every time Luke mentions Morgan, Eddie will preen and take all the credit for their relationship. Eddie will forever say that they wouldn’t have met without him, constantly calling himself a matchmaker and trying to set-up any other single people they might meet. “He was my intern and she was my physical therapist,” Eddie will say to anybody who asks how Morgan and Luke met, and if Eddie’s present, he makes sure to let everyone know this. “It was a match that was meant to be.”

“That’s a good start,” Melissa agrees. “But pro bono doesn’t bring in money. Great for awareness and visibility, so I definitely think we still should do that, but we need something else.”

Eddie sits up a little straighter, his spine stiffening as his head tips to the side just a hint. Richie glances at him with a raised eyebrow, but Eddie is looking straight ahead. His eyebrows are creased like he’s concentrating hard on whatever is running through his brain right now.

Richie moves his hand up to rest on Eddie’s forearm and squeezes once, getting his attention. He raises an eyebrow at him, but Eddie shakes his head, a silent _“Later”_ that Richie learned to interpret many years ago now.

The meeting adjourns twenty minutes later with no concrete ideas or solutions presented. Melissa tells everyone to email her with any other ideas that might come to them, and then they’re dismissed.

Richie has a meeting in thirty minutes, so he squats down in front of Eddie in his chair and leans in to press a kiss to Eddie’s mouth. “I’ll pick you up after my meeting, yeah?” He says once he pulls away, fixing Eddie’s collar. “And you’ll tell me whatever it was that ran through that cute little head of yours?”

Eddie huffs and swats him away, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks. “Yeah, I actually had an idea but need to talk about it with you first,” he says quickly.

“Well now I’m worried,” Richie replies.

“No, don’t be, it just – involves you, so I didn’t want to bring it up if you weren’t on board.”

“Always the ominous man, Spaghetti,” Richie says with a laugh, pressing one more kiss to his lips before standing back up. “I’ll see you later. I love you.”

“Love you, too,” Eddie replies, trailing his hand along Richie’s forearm and squeezing his hand once before Richie walks away.

Richie’s meeting passes in a blur. He’s given a hard deadline to have a final draft of his special by the end of October. There’s talk of a tour again, which Richie tells them he hasn’t made a decision on yet, even though he did pretty much the second it was first brought up. They talk numbers and figures again, and all Richie leaves with is a deadline and a small sense of impending doom.

He picks Eddie up from work and they drive home, Richie listening to Eddie talk about the rest of his day. He squeezes Eddie’s hand from where he holds it over the center console, using it as his lifeline to ground him back down from everything that’s spinning through his head.

“You okay?” Eddie asks, softy, quietly, like he can sense that Richie is stuck in his own thoughts.

Richie nods but doesn’t respond, not trusting his own voice to carry words without cracking and sending him into a small fit of tears. Always prone to either crying or puking with even the slightest hint of an adverse emotion, Richie at least now knows his body well enough after almost 50 years to realize when one or the other is imminent.

Eddie squeezes his hand and brings it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of Richie’s hand before squeezing it again. He plays with Richie’s fingers the rest of the drive home, continuing to chat about whatever crosses his mind to distract Richie from whatever is going on in his.

Richie makes dinner as Eddie sits in the living room, ranting about whatever reality TV show he put on tonight. “They really expect me to think that this isn’t fucking scripted?” Eddie asks as Richie brings the plates to the couch, both of them simultaneously and silently agreeing that it was a couch dinner kind of night. “I mean, who talks like this?”

“You kind of do,” Richie says, handing Eddie his plate and sitting down next to him.

“Fuck you, I do not talk like scripted housewife,” Eddie says with a huff, stabbing his fork into the pasta and taking an aggressive bite.

Richie laughs and watches Eddie as he continues to fume at the TV around mouthfuls of pasta. At least he’ll always have this, he thinks. He’ll always have Eddie and Eddie’s rage, his ability to make Richie laugh when no one else can. He reads Richie better than anyone ever has been able to, and Richie is grateful he’ll at least always have this even if everything else falls apart around him.

“So, Rich,” Eddie says once the show ends and their plates are empty. He takes the remote and mutes the TV, grabbing Richie’s hand and tugging so that Richie is fully facing him. “Do you want to hear my idea?”

“Oh, yeah,” Richie says quickly. “Lay it on me.”

“Just hear me out,” Eddie says slowly. “I think we should do some kind of big event, like Melissa was talking about. Like a charity gala, except we aren’t a charity, but you get the idea. Everyone dresses up. Free will donation, silent auction, maybe even some casino games where proceeds go towards the association.”

“Oh, that actually sounds great,” Richie says with a nod. “It could be fun.”

Richie watches as Eddie plays with Richie’s fingers, and he wonders why Eddie was almost hesitant to talk to Richie about this. It sounds like a great idea that would be fun for everyone involved.

“We’ll need a headliner,” Eddie says after a few seconds, looking up at Richie and biting his lip. “Someone to make people interested, so. I was thinking we could make it like a comedy night.”

Richie blinks at him, and Eddie watches his face closely. Richie is pretty sure he knows where Eddie is going with this.

“Are you asking if I want to host an event for the association?” Richie asks after a few seconds, looking at Eddie.

“Not host, necessarily,” Eddie says. “The association would be the host, but you’d be like . . . the keynote speaker, I guess? The headliner. You’d basically do one of your comedy specials for the audience. I mean, you are kind of a celebrity, Rich. People recognize you when they see you. Paparazzi follow you around. It’d be good, I think. People would come.”

Richie thinks. It is a good idea, and he isn’t surprised that Eddie thought of it. Richie is a fairly common name in the industry, especially since he publicly came out and started writing his own material, and he is known well enough that someone says his name and at least several people in the group know who he is. He worked hard to rebrand himself after Derry and it did not go unnoticed.

He just isn’t sure he can write _another_ show on top of the two that his agent and Netflix want from him. Richie doesn’t even have a draft for _one_ right now.

“Eds,” he says after a few seconds. “I don’t know . . .”

“I know you’re having writing trouble,” Eddie says quickly. “And I don’t know if they would even go for this, but what if your next Netflix special or your next round of live shows is the same as whatever you use for the event? They could release it after the event, and then that way it could also be promoted as like . . . the first viewing of your new special? Or if it’s part of your new live shows, then it would just be like your first live show.”

Richie thinks, not for the first time, that Eddie really should have just been his manager the whole time.

“It would bring people in,” Eddie continues. “People love you. I think they would like to see your new show when it’s for a good cause, too. Obviously I’d have to pitch this to Melissa, and then you’d have to get your agent and manager and whoever else on board, but . . . I do think it could work.”

It could work, Richie thinks. He thinks it might work better as the first of his new string of live shows, because Netflix usually likes to keep his comedy specials to themselves, but if he could get the Netflix one written and released before the event to gather some hype around his name again, then drop that he has a new headlining show that will first be dropped at an event for the United Spinal Association . . . He thinks it could work.

“Let me make some phone calls tomorrow and I’ll let you know,” Richie says eventually, his mind actually starting to whir with ideas for what he could maybe write for it. “Can you ask Melissa first thing tomorrow? I don’t want to really get too far into this if she doesn't want it to happen.”

“No problem,” Eddie replies instantly. “But she’ll say yes. It’s a genius idea.”

“Okay, bragger,” Richie says with a laugh. “We all know you’re a genius. Have some humility for once.”

“Don’t think I will,” Eddie says with a shrug, leaning into Richie’s side. “I’m allowed to have a big head.”

“That’s not the only thing that’s big –” Richie starts, cut off by Eddie’s hand slapping over his mouth.

“Shut up, dickwad,” Eddie groans, leaving his hand over Richie’s mouth until Richie licks his palm. “Ugh, that is so fucking disgusting, you know I hate when you do that –”

Eddie goes on, spewing facts about the number of germs that rest on human tongues as Richie pulls a bottle of hand sanitizer out of the coffee table drawer and hands it to him.

“Oh,” Eddie says softly, pausing his rant to take it from Richie. “Thanks.”

Richie smiles at Eddie as he rubs the hand sanitizer into his hands. Richie turns and rests against Eddie, letting his head drop onto his shoulder. Eddie hums and brings his now sanitized hand up to run through Richie’s hair, and Richie feels a soft kiss pressed to his forehead.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with my brain,” Richie says quietly with a groan. “Why can’t I just write a single fucking line of a show?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart,” Eddie murmurs against his forehead, and Richie feels another soft kiss pressed to the skin of his forehead. “I wish I knew how to help.”

Richie grumbles into Eddie’s shoulder, letting himself get lost in the feeling of Eddie’s hand running through his hair. Maybe he should just start writing down every interaction he’s had with Eddie that made him laugh and then he can go from there. It would at least be something instead of the blank document he’s had for weeks now.

He feels his eyes start to droop, the rhythm of Eddie’s hand as it strokes his hair lulling him into a state of calmness and sleepiness. His brain has been on hyperdrive all day, and it feels like he only now just got the chance for his brain to relax.

He’s jostled back to consciousness however many minutes later when Eddie shrugs his shoulder up and down a few times, smiling fondly at Richie as Richie blinks awake.

“Come on,” Eddie says quietly, pushing Richie into an upright position. “Let go to bed early tonight.”

Richie yawns and nods, standing up and stretching his arms over his head. He watches Eddie as he easily transfers into his chair and starts to roll towards the bedroom, Richie close behind him. Richie tugs his shirt off over his head and sheds his pants before climbing into bed, letting out a yawn as his head hits the pillow.

It takes Eddie longer to get undressed, as he has to shimmy his pants off while still sitting. Once he’s done, he transfers onto the bed next to Richie and lowers himself onto his side. He’s facing Richie, and Richie smiles at him as he leans over Eddie to turn the lamp off on his bedside table.

“C’mon,” Eddie mumbles, grabbing onto Richie to pull him closer. “Turn over and let me hold you tonight.”

Richie does as he’s told, turning over and shimmying closer to Eddie so that Eddie is completely pressed along his backside. Eddie hums and wraps an arm around Richie’s waist, nuzzling his nose into the crook of Richie’s neck.

Richie lets out a sigh, resting his hand on top of Eddie’s on his belly. “Love you,” he mumbles, already feeling the sleep coming on as Eddie holds him.

Eddie presses a kiss to the top of Richie’s shoulder. “Love you too, sweetheart,” he says softly. “Go to sleep.”

Richie feels himself fade into sleep, and he dreams of nothing but Eddie and his arms around him.

* * *

“So you’re saying we only do one show? The same show for your next string of live shows and for the next Netflix special?” Richie’s manager asks at their meeting the a few days later. “And that one opens at your husband’s event?”

Richie nods as everyone in the room looks at one another. He isn’t sure how much clearer he can be.

“And you don’t want to go on a tour?”

“No,” Richie says instantly. “Sorry, but I think I’m too old for that shit. I’m fine doing a few out of state shows but I don't want to be on the road for that long at once.”

They all nod again, and Richie wonders if he should come clean about not having anything written yet. He decides against it, thinking that it might be better if he keeps that to himself for now.

“Any reason you only want to do one?”

“Well, writing two at once is challenging,” Richie admits, and it’s as close to the truth as he wishes to get right now. “But I want to make it something . . . meaningful? And still funny, obviously. But I want it to mean something more than past ones, and I want as many people as possible to see it.”

What the fuck is he talking about? Richie wants to slap himself. He doesn’t even have anything written, how the fuck is he supposed to know if it’s going to be meaningful?

“That makes sense to us,” one of the Netflix producers says with a shrug. “We could shoot it at his first live venue other than the event. I’m assuming they won’t want us shooting at the event?”

“God, no,” Richie says with a small laugh. “Eddie would actually murder you, probably.”

Everyone in the room chuckles, and Richie thinks that they might not be laughing if they actually knew his husband.

They all seem to agree on the plan, and everyone shakes hands and exits the conference room. That was easier than Richie initially anticipated, and if he had known it would be that easy, he would have thought of something like it weeks ago.

He shoots Eddie a text, letting him know that he’s on board and everything is good to go on his end. Eddie replies, telling him to check his email for potential dates and asks what he wants for dinner.

Richie grins at his phone, typing out a lewd reply complete with an eggplant emoji before hopping into the car to head home. He has some writing to do.

* * *

Richie keeps the word _meaningful_ in his head as he writes, and it does seem to help. He keeps picturing the event and the association and everything it stands for, and he thinks of Eddie and how hard he’s worked and everything he’s overcome to get where he is today. And it helps.

Richie’s days and nights are spent writing, fixing jokes or sentences of a story to make it better, and then he’ll switch to the script for his other _thing_ that is increasing in page number by the day. He has no idea what he is even going to do with this script, but it seems to act as a creative outlet for him that he didn’t know he needed before.

In the evenings, he’ll listen and write as Eddie putters in the kitchen or in the bedroom. Eventually, as the sun sets and the moon begins to shine, Eddie will come up to Richie and will dramatically flop forward in his wheelchair until his forehead is resting on Richie’s knees.

“Richieeee,” he’ll whine. “Pay attention to me, shithead.”

And Richie will laugh and close his computer for the night. Who is he to say no to Eddie Tozier?

The event is scheduled for early December, and by the time November 1st rolls around, Richie submits his final draft of the comedy special for approval. He knows it’ll take a few days for everyone to read over it and approve it, so for now, Richie just has to sit and wait.

Because, apparently, he’s also done with whatever his screenplay is, or at least the first part of it. He thinks it’s probably a TV show, some kind of drama/comedy mix. He doesn't know how this works at all; he has no idea how to format a script on his own. All he’s ever had to do in the past is _read_ them. He never thought to look too deeply at the formatting, as writing one was so far out of his mind at the time. He thinks he really should show it to his manager to see what he thinks.

Richie jolts up at the thought, grabbing his laptop from the coffee table in front of him. Fuck it. He’s going to do just that. What’s the point of it sitting on his computer without even trying to do _something_ with it?

“Whoa,” Eddie says from the other side of the couch, setting his book down on his lap. His reading glasses are perched on his nose, and Richie thinks he looks like a librarian when he wears them. A sexy librarian, but a librarian nonetheless. “What’s happening over there?”

“Nothing, just, doing something before I can talk myself out of it,” Richie says as he quickly types an email, attaches the document, and sends it off.

“Is this about whatever your secret project is?” Eddie asks, bringing his book back up and looking down at it.

“Yep,” Richie replies, popping his lips on the ‘p’ and smiling as Eddie looks over at him again.

“Cool,” Eddie says, going back to his book and not pushing the subject. He knows Richie isn’t ready to show him, and Richie is forever grateful he doesn’t have to make up excuses for why he doesn't want Eddie to see.

He isn’t even fully sure why he doesn't want to show Eddie yet. It might be because he doesn't want Eddie to be disappointed in him if nothing becomes of it; it might be because it is loosely based on Eddie and he doesn’t want Eddie to think it’s shit. Or, it’s a mix of both and Richie just doesn't want Eddie to be disappointed in him, period. Richie thinks he’ll know when the time to show him is right, and hopefully, that’s sooner rather than later.

Not even ten minutes later, Richie gets a text message from his manager.

_Rich. What the fuck is this?_

Richie blinks at his phone, glancing over at Eddie who is still reading his book before replying. _its a script for something. movie or show or whatever. idk. ive just been working on it in my free time._

He stares at his screen, his heart pounding in his throat, because he really doesn't know if that was a good or a bad “what the fuck.”

_It’s good. This is really fucking good, Richie. I’m going to show this to a few people, see if there’s any interest._

Richie blinks at his phone again, opening his mouth and then quickly shutting it again. He types out a quick reply of thanks before throwing his phone onto the couch next to him. He slams his laptop shut and sets it back on the coffee table before dramatically slipping down onto the couch cushions. He throws an arm over his face and lets out a noise he doesn’t even know how to describe.

“You could win an Emmy for your dramatics,” Eddie says dryly without looking up from his book.

“You could win an Emmy for being a fucking asshole,” Richie replies without removing his arm.

Eddie laughs. “Fuck you,” he says, but he lets out another laugh anyway. Richie peeks out from the side of his arm and smiles at him. Eddie is shaking his head at him, but he’s setting his book down on the coffee table and grabbing his legs to lift them off the couch and put them back on the ground. He pushes his arms into the couch to lift his bottom off of it, and then he’s scooting over towards Richie before flopping into his side.

“Hey, hot stuff,” Richie says, wrapping an arm around Eddie as he leans into his side. “You here to see my Emmy for best dramatics?”

“Shut up,” Eddie says with a huff. His hand slides up under Richie’s shirt and rubs against Richie’s chest as he lets out a sigh.

“What’s up, Eddie baby?” Richie asks softly, because Eddie doesn't just let out sighs like that for no reason.

“Can we take a day off tomorrow?” Eddie says quietly. “It’s Friday, so we’ll have a long weekend. I just . . . I miss you, which is dumb because I see you every night.”

“Hey, hey,” Richie says, gathering Eddie into his arms and pulling him onto his lap. “It’s not dumb. We’ve both been busy with everything that’s going on. I’ll take tomorrow off, not a problem.”

Eddie rests his hand on Richie’s chest for a moment before pulling it out from under his shirt and wrapping it around his neck, holding Richie close. “No laptops or phones or anything,” Eddie adds. “Not even working from home.”

“Eddie baby, I don’t even have anything to work on right now. I have to wait to get my revisions back before I can even start practicing and rehearsing.”

“Good,” Eddie says. “I want all of your focus tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Richie says, and Richie kisses him until Eddie is moaning into his mouth. He pulls back after a few minutes, laughing as Eddie chases his mouth. He reaches to grab his phone from next to him and writes a text to his manager saying he’ll be unavailable tomorrow and the rest of the weekend, and as soon as he hits send, Eddie grabs his phone and tosses it onto the couch and out of Richie’s reach.

“No. More. Phones.” Eddie says, punctuating each word with a kiss to Richie’s jaw.

“Yes sir, Mr. Tozier, sir,” Richie says in a deep voice, bringing a hand up and giving Eddie a salute as Eddie makes his way down Richie’s neck. Eddie nips at the junction of Richie’s neck and shoulder, and Richie lets out a small gasp.

“Time to take this to the bedroom, I think,” Richie says, his hands sliding up under the back of Eddie’s shirt and rubbing at his low back.

“Yes, please,” Eddie says, coming back up and kissing him again. Richie hums against his mouth before breaking apart. He gathers Eddie in his arms, cradling him tightly to his chest before heaving himself up. Eddie squeaks and clings to his neck, and Richie thanks everything in the universe that he is still able to do this. It’s just easier than getting Eddie into his wheelchair sometimes, especially when he’s already in Richie’s lap, whether because he’s horny or asleep.

Richie carries him carefully into the bedroom, and Eddie knows not to distract him while they’re walking like this. Richie sets him gently on the bed, and he strips his own shirt off as Eddie lies back against the pillows, grabbing for Richie and pulling him on top of him once he’s within reach.

Richie kisses him and kisses him and keeps kissing him, and he forgets about everything else except for Eddie and Eddie’s mouth and hands and body for the whole weekend.

* * *

On Sunday evening, Richie is sated and happy as he sprawls out on the couch and clicks through the television channels. He hasn’t checked his email all weekend, and he only glanced at his phone occasionally to make sure there were no emergencies that needed attending to. They haven’t had a weekend like this in a long time, where their attention was just on each other and nothing else.

Richie smiles as he glances over at Eddie, who’s sitting in the armchair and reading his book again. He feels like he did on their honeymoon five years ago, where it was just the two of them and no outside world, only Richie and Eddie and their love for each other. Eddie fills his whole body with such a feeling of happiness mixed with relief and just a hint of exhilaration. He spent so long feeling like he wouldn’t ever have this, and even eight years later, Richie still can’t believe that this is something he gets to experience in this lifetime.

“Am I allowed to check my email?” Richie asks, breaking the silence and causing Eddie to jump with a start.

“Sure, but then I want you to come over here and kiss me.”

Richie smiles and shakes his head. His husband is both demanding and insatiable.

He grabs his laptop off of the table and opens it up, refreshing his email and seeing that his comedy set was sent back with the stamp of approval and only minor revisions. Richie lets out a sigh of relief. At least he was able to write something after all those weeks and weeks of writer’s block.

Richie scrolls through the revisions, nodding and idly making the changes. He hopes this is good. It’s different than any of his past shows, and he thinks that might make it even better. It’s not what anyone will be expecting but then, at the same time, he thinks that it also won’t take people by surprise at all. He just really, really, really hopes it works out. He wants the event to be a success for the association’s sake, but he also wants to be a success for his sake. If the event blows, Richie thinks he will probably take it a little bit personally.

Richie shuts his laptop and sighs, standing up and going over towards Eddie’s armchair. Eddie smiles up at Richie and sets his book down, gently taking his reading glasses off and folding them on the table next to him. “Come here, sweetheart,” he says, patting the small amount of space next to him on the seat.

Richie goes over and wedges himself onto the chair, pulling Eddie half onto his lap with his legs draped over his thighs. Eddie hums and smiles at him, and Richie runs a hand up and down his thigh.

Richie leans his head back against the cushions of the chair, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes for a moment. “What if it sucks?” He says after a few minutes of silence, his voice soft and quiet.

“Hm?” Eddie hums in reply. “The show?”

“Yeah.” Richie opens his eyes to look at Eddie. The sun is setting in the window behind him, the orange glow shining on Eddie’s hair and illuminating his features. Richie would like to just stare at him forever.

“It won’t,” Eddie replies instantly. “You’ve only ever bombed one show before, Rich. And that was right after getting a phone call from Derry fucking Maine.”

Richie laughs, because this is now a thing he can laugh at eight years later and with Eddie by his side, happy and married to him and with all of his memories intact.

“Yeah, and then I went into hiding for a year and publicly came out,” Richie muses.

“And your first show back was your best show yet,” Eddie states with no room for argument.

Richie remembers his first show back, almost a year and a half after his return to Derry. He and Eddie had been together for around six months, and he felt so fucking nervous about getting back onstage. Eddie stayed home that night, not quite ready to venture out into the public just yet, especially one with a large amount of people present. He sent Richie off with a big kiss and a pat on the bottom and promised to call him as soon as it was over. Bev was going to be there to record the whole thing for Eddie, and Eddie promised to watch it as soon as it was sent to him. Richie had entered his dressing room to a huge bouquet of roses with a note that read, “Kick some ass, sweetheart. Love, Spaghetti <3,” and Richie had started crying on the spot. He’s not ashamed to admit it. But he pulled himself together and got himself to makeup and wardrobe, and he gave one of the best shows of his life.

The reviews after that show led to sold out follow-up shows, and then Netflix reached back out to him, expressing renewed interest in filming a new special for their streaming service. Before he knew it, he was back on talk shows and he was starting to see paparazzi follow him around again, who he really hadn’t seen since his disastrous show before Derry.

“You know I’m always right,” Eddie says, breaking Richie out of his reverie.

Richie pokes at Eddie’s chest. “You are not.”

“Am fucking too!” Eddie shouts, louder than he needs to be while sitting right on Richie’s lap. “When have I ever been wrong?”

“Like, yesterday, dude,” Richie laughs. “When you said shrimp was unsanitary.”

“It is unsanitary!” Eddie yells again. “If you think it’s _not_ unsanitary then that is _your_ problem, dickhead, don’t come to me crying when you die of –”

Richie wheezes out a laugh, causing Eddie to abruptly stop talking and frown at him. “It’s not funny,” Eddie petulantly, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning even harder at him.

“It is,” Richie replies instantly. “I have been eating shrimp for almost 50 years and I’m fine.”

Eddie grumbles to himself as Richie tries to pry his arms off his chest, sighing dramatically when he’s unable to. “Dude, your arms are made of steel,” Richie tells him with a shake of his head. “Fucking immovable iron rods or something.”

Eddie releases his arms from where they’re crossed on his chest and loops them around Richie’s neck. “You like the gun show,” Eddie muses.

“I do,” Richie says instantly. “They’re fucking sexy and could probably break me in half.”

Eddie laughs, and Richie relaxes at the sound and forgets about everything else that’s to come in the next few months.

* * *

Richie’s manager sends his screenplay off to several studios to gauge if there’s any interest in it, and Richie chooses to pretend that isn’t happening by spending every waking moment rehearsing for the event.

In just a week now, they’ll be at the event ‘Rolling with Confidence’ hosted by the United Spinal Association. Eddie came up with the name in the dead middle of the night, shooting up to write it down in his phone before promptly falling back asleep. There will be a silent auction, some casino games such as poker and blackjack, a free will donation, and, of course, Richie’s set, which is the main event for the evening. Black-tie. Fancy. Everything Richie usually dislikes but he finds himself actually excited for it.

Bev already has their suits picked out, hanging up in the closet in garment bags and just waiting for the night to roll around. Of course they invited all of the Losers, and Eddie and Morgan went around to physical therapy clinics to invite other therapists and patients. Richie distributed brochures at his support groups and gave them extras to hand out to others. He made a tweet that included a sign-up link and a brief trailer that the association made up just for the media, and Richie was a little shocked to see the names of a few well-known celebrities on the sign-up list when he checked a few days later. He does sometimes forget that he is actually relatively famous.

The day before the event, Richie finds himself sitting on the couch in the spare bedroom, which has slowly turned into Eddie’s workout room since they moved into the house. It started with just some exercise bands and a few weights, but now it includes things that Richie doesn’t even know the name for. Richie is reading over his notes again as Eddie is on the floor on his yoga mat doing who-knows-what. Richie knows Eddie’s upper body doesn’t look like _that_ because he just lays around all day, and he’s seen him workout before, but it never really gets old.

“You should change the wording of that line,” Eddie pants, out of breath as he lies on his back while raising a medicine ball over his head. “And it’ll land better if you rearrange your last few sentences too, I think.”

“This is why we do this,” Richie says, making the changes Eddie suggested. “I really should just have you write my stuff.”

“It would suck,” Eddie replies quickly, bringing the medicine ball to his chest before lifting it up and over his head again. “I might be funnier than you, but I couldn’t have a comedy show with my humor.”

Richie laughs and starts talking again, rehearsing the next part of his show. Eddie rolls onto his back and pushes himself up into a seated position with his arms, grabbing the dumbbells that are next to him and curling them. Richie thinks those weights are probably bigger than the size of Eddie’s head. He trails off, watching Eddie’s biceps flex with each curl of the weight. Eddie lets out a small grunt each time he brings the weight up, and Richie feels his mouth drop a little, unable to take his eyes away from Eddie’s arms.

“Seriously?” Eddie’s voice breaks through Richie’s trance. “Rich. You’ve seen my arms before.”

“It’s just amazing you have _those_ fuckers hiding at all times,” Richie says, waving his hand in the direction of Eddie’s biceps. “You really could toss me out a window with those.”

“Why do you think I keep them like this?” Eddie says cheekily with a grin before going back to his exercise.

“Fucking evil,” Richie says, turning his focus back to his computer. He finishes going over the set and Eddie only has a few more tweaks for him to make, and once he’s done, Richie closes his laptop and sets it on the table next to him.

Eddie sets his weights down and lays back down on his back, propping himself up on his elbows and grinning at Richie. Richie slides off of the couch and crawls the short distance over to Eddie, ignoring the slight twinge in his knees. Eddie grins up at him again as Richie crawls on top of him, resting his elbows on either side of Eddie and smiling down at him.

“Hey,” Eddie says, his voice low as Richie rests his body along the length of Eddie’s. “This isn’t part of my workout routine.”

“Could be,” Richie says, leaning down to press a kiss to Eddie’s jaw. His skin is salty from the sweat from his workout and his hair is sticking to his forehead a little bit. Eddie hums and Richie feels his hands wraps around his torso, sliding up under the back of his shirt and bunching it up, his hands stroking up and down Richie’s back.

Richie kisses down the length of Eddie’s neck, and Eddie takes a deep breath and lets out a small moan. “Your show is going to be so good, Rich,” he breathes, tipping his head back to give Richie more space to work. “It turned out so good.”

“I hope so,” Richie mumbles into his neck, nipping gently at the base of Eddie’s neck. “There is a lot hinging on it.”

Eddie brings one of his hands to Richie’s face, bringing it up so he’s looking Richie straight in the eyes. He slides his hand around to the back of Richie’s head, pulling him down into a long kiss. “It will be,” Eddie gasps out when they pull apart. “I said so. Your manager said so. Netflix said so. That’s a lot of people who think this is your best one yet, Rich.”

Richie nods and kisses Eddie again, and he wonders if he has done enough.

“It’s enough,” Eddie mumbles against his mouth, and Richie really doesn’t know anymore if he says things out loud or if Eddie can actually read his thoughts. “It’s more than enough, actually.”

“Maybe I should rehearse it one more time,” Richie says as he kisses down to Eddie’s collarbone. He plants his arms on either side of Eddie and makes to push up to get off the floor, but Eddie wraps his arms around him and holds him to his chest.

“Don’t you fucking dare leave me down here,” Eddie hisses. “Finish what you started, dickwad, and then you can run through it with me again.”

Richie laughs and kisses his husband again. It’s not like he could escape Eddie’s grasp anyway, even if he wanted to. “As you wish,” he says against his mouth.

“Don’t fucking quote _Princess Bride_ at me,” Eddie huffs, pulling Richie’s shirt off over his head.

“Just admit you like that movie,” Richie murmurs as Eddie leans up to nip at Richie’s ear, one of his hands sliding below the waistband of Richie’s pants.

“Never,” Eddie replies, kissing Richie again. His hand slides even lower and he gives Richie’s ass a small squeeze, firmly shutting Richie up until late into the evening. He is really the master at distracting Richie after years and years of dealing with Richie’s pre-show anxiety, and Richie will always be thankful for it.

* * *

“And believe it or not, that asshole married me,” Richie says to the cats the next day. He’s practicing from memory after lunch, watching for any hissing or signs of distress from Dobby or Bonk to determine if his set is good or bad. Dobby blinks at him and shivers, and Richie thinks he really should get his sweater out for the winter so the poor thing doesn’t freeze to death. Bonk stares at him and lifts a paw up, gently starting to push Richie’s glass of water off of the counter as he maintains eye contact.

“Don’t fucking do it,” he says to Bonk, reaching for the glass two nanoseconds too late as Bonk pushes it off the counter and sends it to the floor.

“That cat is a menace,” Eddie says as he rolls into the kitchen. “I don’t know why we got him in the first place.”

“Because you, and I quote, ‘wanted a cat that didn’t look like a brain,’” Richie says, making finger quotes and laughing at Eddie.

“It’s not my fault you brought home a fucking naked mole rat instead of a cat, Richie,” Eddie deadpans, grabbing a water bottle from the refrigerator and taking a sip.

“That was over five years ago,” Richie huffs, glancing at the time. “And you love him.”

“Put the fucking sweater on him so he stops looking so pathetic and run your set by me one more time.” Eddie waves his hand at him, telling him to get a move on and hurry up.

Richie runs to get Dobby’s sweater and manages to get it on him after chasing him around the living room. He comes out victorious in the end, and he stands back up and immediately launches into his set for Eddie.

When he gets the end, Eddie claps and grins at him. “I have no more critiques,” he says with a shrug. “It’s perfect.”

Richie grins at him, glancing at the time again. “Thanks. What time do we have to leave again?”

“We should probably head out by 3:30,” Eddie says, pulling his phone out to look at his calendar. “That way we can help finish setting up. We can get dressed there, too.”

Richie nods and settles down on the couch to read his notes since they have a few hours to kill. The event is being held in a hotel banquet room, and they have rooms reserved for all the staff and employees that are working, as well as any guests that requested a reservation. Richie and Eddie were there yesterday to help get things set up, and Eddie was working all week long to make sure all the vendors, volunteers, and employees had everything they needed and were all still onboard.

Richie’s manager will be at the event, both for support and to gauge audience interest in his new set to determine the venue size to book for his future shows. He sent Richie an email early in the morning saying that they needed to talk ASAP, but that it should wait until after the event so Richie wouldn’t worry. Which, obviously, made Richie worry, but he is actively not thinking about that right now.

Richie bites his lip and thinks. He knows his set is good; pretty much everyone who has heard it has told him that it’s his best one yet. He knows the event is going to be a success just based on the size of the guest list, and he already has his future live shows lined up and his contract with Netflix signed. Unless he absolutely and spectacularly blows it, there is really nothing for him to worry about.

But.

Richie looks over at Eddie, who is sitting in his wheelchair and staring blankly at the TV, fiddling with his hands in his lap and biting his lip. The guest list for the event is _huge_ , which is great for the association, but Eddie hasn’t been around that many people since before Derry. There wedding wasn’t huge, as everyone had to fit within Bill’s house and backyard, and this is probably at least three times the size of their wedding. He knows Eddie is still anxious about crowds and the public, even when it’s for his work.

“Eddie baby,” he says quietly, looking at Eddie as his eyes snap towards him. “You okay?”

Eddie looks down at his lap again. “Just anxious,” Eddie whispers. “Because – well, you know.”

“I literally am not going to leave your side the whole night unless I’m on the stage,” Richie tells him. “I’ve got you.”

“I know,” Eddie replies quietly. “I know you do.”

3:30 rolls around and Richie gathers up their suits and overnight bags, refills the cats’ food and water bowls and tells them to behave for the night, and then they are heading out the door and into the car.

Once at the hotel, Eddie is immediately in business mode. He’s flocked by Luke and some of the interns as soon as they’re inside the banquet hall, and he heads to the back of the room to look at whatever it is they’re all aflutter about. Richie heads to the hotel desk to check them in, their bags and suits in hand as the woman at the front desk hands him his keycard with a grin and a small request for a picture and an autograph once his hands aren’t full. Richie has been doing this for years now, probably over 20 years of his life, and he still can’t believe that he, Richie Tozier, little old Trashmouth, is kind of a celebrity.

Richie gives her a smile and tells her that he’ll be back later for a picture with her once he’s all done up and pretty again. She thanks him repeatedly, and Richie smiles and waves at her before heading into the elevator and up to their room. He hangs their suits up and sets their bags on the dresser, hearing Eddie’s voice in his head scolding him as he considers putting them on the ground.

Richie flops onto the bed for a moment and looks up at the ceiling, running through his set in his head again. It’s laced with Eddie. His whole fucking set revolves around him at least somewhat. If Eddie isn’t directly mentioned by name or as “my husband,” he’s there in the way that Richie wrote it, or a punchline is stolen directly from the mouth of one Edward Tozier.

Richie fishes his phone out of his pocket and shoots Eddie a text with their room number. Eddie replies with a heart, and Richie smiles at his phone, feeling like a sap for such a simple emoji making his heart smile. He sometimes wonders if this will ever fade, this love and passion and desire he has for Eddie. They’ve been together seven years now, married for five, and Richie still feels like he did when he was 13 and carving their initials on the bridge. He still feels the light and hope inside of him that he felt the first time they kissed.

His phone buzzes with another message from Eddie, telling him that they’re actually all done setting up and that Richie can stay in the room and relax. Richie sighs and feels his eyes droop closed. A little nap before the adrenaline of performing never hurt anybody.

Richie’s eyes shoot open to the sound of a knock on the door. He checks the time, noting that almost two hours have passed. He stands up and stretches, going to the door and opening it, grinning down at Eddie when he sees him at the door.

“Hey,” Eddie says as he goes into the room. “I didn’t have a room key and I figured you fell asleep since you weren’t answering your phone.”

“Oh,” Richie says, scooping up his phone and checking his calls and messages. “Sorry, I hope you didn’t need anything?”

“No, I was just checking to make sure you were okay. I just stayed with Bev in her and Ben’s room, but we both need to get ready now.”

Richie smiles at him, and Eddie grabs one of his hands and presses a kiss to his palm. “You seem pretty calm,” Eddie tells him. “No puking yet?”

Richie huffs and goes to unzip their garment bags. “I don’t always throw up before shows,” he says, taking Eddie’s suit out and laying it on the bed for him. “Only the ones I’m really nervous for.”

“So that means . . .” Eddie starts and trails off, looking at Richie with one eyebrow raised.

“It’ll probably happen in the next thirty minutes, yeah,” Richie says with a shrug. It’s nothing he isn’t used to at this point.

Richie helps Eddie get dressed first, helping him slide his pants on and handing Eddie his shirt and jacket and tie. Eddie loops the tie around his neck, looking in the mirror and tying it quickly and efficiently until it’s a nice and tidy knot. “Does it look okay?” Eddie asks once his jacket is on, straightening his tie and holding his arms out for Richie to see.

Eddie always looks handsome when he’s dressed up, and it’s something that Richie thinks he doesn't get to see often enough. “It looks amazing,” he says, pressing a kiss to Eddie’s forehead before stripping his own clothes off to change.

Richie pulls his pants on, fighting the sudden bout of nerves that start to make a home in his belly, sending nervous butterflies throughout his whole body. He takes a deep breath, pausing for a second and closing his eyes as he fastens the button of his pants. He’ll be fine. He’s been practicing and rehearsing for weeks now. He’s spent the last twenty plus years of his life performing onstage. This is what he does.

He feels Eddie’s hand grab his, and he blinks his eyes open and looks down at Eddie, who is looking up at him with concern. Eddie tugs on his hand repeatedly, his silent way of telling Richie to come down to his level. Richie, still shirtless, squats down in front of Eddie, resting a hand on his knee and looking at him.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” Eddie says softly, reaching a hand out and stroking Richie’s cheek. “Deep breaths.”

Richie matches his breathing to Eddie’s, closing his eyes and letting himself get lost on the feeling of Eddie’s hand on his cheek. He counts each breath and practices some of his calming techniques: imagining himself on stage and the show going perfectly, hugging Eddie afterward, the sound of applause and cheering. He feels a brief press of lips against his nose, and he opens his eyes again and sees Eddie smiling at him gently.

“There we go,” Eddie murmurs. “Better?”

Richie nods, taking one more deep breath for good measure before pressing a quick kiss to Eddie’s cheek. “Thanks,” he whispers, his lips brushing against Eddie’s cheek as he says it. Eddie smiles again as Richie stands up, heading back towards the bed to finish getting dressed. He buttons his shirt up and grabs his tie, but Eddie snatches it out of his head with a grin.

“Sit,” Eddie demands, planting a hand on his chest and pushing him onto the bed. “Let me.”

Eddie gathers up close to him, looping the tie around his neck. His fingers brush against the skin that peeks out at the top of his collar, and Eddie grins at him as he feels goosebumps follow where Eddie’s fingers touch. He ties the knot with deft and expert fingers, looping it and then flatting the tie along Richie’s chest once it’s secured. As he works, Eddie’s tongue pokes out from between his lips in concentration, and Richie thinks that it’s probably the cutest thing that he’s ever seen.

“There,” Eddie says, patting the tie to Richie’s chest and resting his hand there one’s he’s done. “All pretty now.”

“You say that like I’m not always pretty.”

“Mm,” Eddie hums but gives no further answer. He leans in to press a kiss to Richie’s lips. Richie kisses him back, his hand cupping Eddie’s cheek as he tries to deepen the kiss. “No, nope, absolutely not,” Eddie says as he pulls away, far enough back so that Richie can’t chase his mouth. “There is no time for funny business.”

“We are literally here for a fancy comedy night, Eds,” Richie says with a wolfish grin. “We have all the time in the world for funny business.”

Eddie groans and rolls himself backwards, accompanied by an eye roll. “Put your jacket on so we can fix our hair and head down.”

Richie does as he’s told and goes into the bathroom to fix his hair. Once he’s done, he comes back out and sees that Eddie has fluffed his hair a little.

“Well?” Richie asks, spinning for Eddie so he can see his full outfit. “What do you think?”

“Let me see the backside,” Eddie says, and Richie turns around as Eddie lets out a low whistle. “Damn,” Eddie murmurs after a moment. “I will never get tired of that view.”

Richie laughs and turns back around, shaking his head at his husband. “You have a thing for my ass.”

“Uh, yeah, it’s the one thing that is always in directly in my line of sight,” Eddie says with a shrug. “I demand only the best scenery.”

They make their way down to the banquet hall, pausing at the front desk to give the girl working it the picture and autograph Richie promised. She grins at him and tells them both they look incredibly handsome, asking Eddie if he’s the elusive husband Richie talks about in his sets so much.

“Sure am,” Eddie tells her with a smile. “I’m Eddie, this one’s better half.” He points in Richie’s direction with his thumb, and Richie beams at him. It’s true.

She smiles at him and enthusiastically shakes his hand. Eddie takes a picture of her with Richie, and Richie signs a brochure for the evening and hands it to her after chatting for a few more seconds. He likes to talk with fans; he thinks most of his fans now are pretty chill. He’s pretty sure that he weeded out all the assholes when he came out, and since then he has only had relatively good experiences with anyone he comes across.

“You’re good with them,” Eddie muses as they head into the banquet room. “All your fans adore you.”

“It’s still weird to me that I have fans,” Richie replies. “I still feel like 13-year-old Trashmouth who’s making your mom jokes and trialing out voices and getting yelled at by his best friend.”

“In my defense, your voices needed work,” Eddie says. “They’re much better now.”

“I fucking hope so, since a lot of them are making at least a small appearance tonight.”

They enter the room, and Richie is rushed to the side for some quick makeup so the lights don’t wash him out. He watches as Eddie goes up to some of his coworkers, shaking their hands and Richie thinks they must be complimenting his outfit, because he sees Eddie duck his head with a faint pink flush spreading across his cheeks.

Dinner is served before Richie’s set, once the room is filled and the guests are mingling. Richie picks at his plate, only taking a few bites of potatoes to try and settle his stomach a little bit. Richie and Eddie are seated at a table with all of the Losers, who are joking and laughing and dressed to the nines. They’re a good distraction for Richie, and none of them comment on his mostly untouched plate of food.

“I’ll make sure they leave your plate,” Eddie says as he takes a bite of his food. “I know you’ll be hungry as soon as you’re done.”

Richie nods, eating one more roasted potato before he abruptly sets his fork down. He glances at his watch. Only twenty minutes and then he’ll be on the stage. He takes a sip of his champagne, careful to not guzzle it like he wants to. Richie can feel Eddie watching him, and he looks over at him when he feels Eddie’s hand rest on his thigh. Eddie is smiling at him softly, and he leans over to press a kiss to Richie’s cheek just as they hear someone tap on the microphone on the stage.

Melissa introduces herself on the stage and thanks everyone for coming. She gives everyone a brief description of the United Spinal Association, and she says how the rest of the night is going to go, including dessert, a silent auction, and some casino games, with all bets and proceeds going towards the association.

“And of course, before we can get to any of that fun, we have our very special guest with us tonight!” Melissa says, looking over at Richie’s table and smiling at him. “So, without further ado, I would like to introduce Mr. Edward Tozier, who will be introducing his husband and the main event to all of us tonight!” 

Richie blinks, turning to look over at Eddie and noticing that he’s no longer sitting next to him. He whirls his head around, and his eyes land back on the stage, where Eddie is rolling up to Melissa and the microphone as Melissa introduces him.

“Eddie has worked with us for over six years now, and he is a very dear employee and friend to all of us,” she says, placing the microphone back in the stand and lowering it for him. “Give it up for Eddie!”

The audience gives him a brief round of applause, and Richie watches him with wide eyes. Eddie fiddles with his tie once before looking back up and out into the crowd, his eyes immediately finding Richie’s and smiling at him. He looks nervous but excited. Eddie, who doesn't like to be seen in public very much anymore, who feels he sticks out when they’re out and about because of his wheelchair. Eddie, his Eddie, is up on a stage in front of hundreds of people. Richie feels so proud of him and just wants to look at him forever.

“Hi,” Eddie says with a small laugh. “I’m Eddie Tozier and like Melissa said, I’ve worked for the United Spinal Association for a few years now. But, I’m not here to talk about me. I’m here to talk about my husband.”

Eddie looks over at Richie again, and Richie smiles at him and gives him a thumbs up.

“I’m sure most of you are aware of Richie,” Eddie says. “Most people are, much to my dismay. It goes to his head, let me tell you.” Richie and the audience all laugh, and Richie shakes his head.

“But, Richie is more than just the comedian and public figure you all are familiar with. He’s my husband, and he’s been by my side constantly for the past eight years. He’s my other half, even if I’m the better half, and he makes this whole world a better place just by existing. I’ve watched him work so hard on this set for the past few months, and I’ve heard it enough times that I could just do it myself right now, but I don’t have his “talent” for comedic timing, according to him. Everyone better laugh just so I don’t have to listen to him complain for the rest of his life.”

The audience laughs again, and Richie has to bite his lip to keep himself from crying. There will be time for that later.

“Richie is my rock. He helps me up when I’m down – both physically and emotionally – and he is the best man I know. I could talk about him for hours, as I’m sure all of our friends are aware.” The room chuckles again, and Richie watches as all of the Losers collectively nod their heads in Eddie’s direction.

“So, I’ll stop talking now, but everyone please welcome my husband, Richie Tozier, to the stage!”

Richie smiles and ducks his head as he gets up from his seat, giving the crowd a wave before jogging up onto the stage. Eddie is grinning at him from his wheelchair, and Richie immediately goes towards him. Eddie looks up at him and takes Richie’s hand, and Richie squats down in front of him, cups his cheek with his hand, and kisses him in front of the whole crowd. He pulls back with a smile, and Eddie is looking at him with such pride and love that Richie wants to just stare at him forever. He squeezes Eddie’s hand once and stands back up, raising the microphone stand and pulling it out to hold to close to his mouth.

“Sorry about all of that,” Richie says with a smile to the crowd. “My husband likes to talk and I like to kiss him. Please give him a round of applause as he makes his way off of the stage to ogle me from afar!”

Eddie shakes his head, scratching his cheek with his middle finger for a few seconds too long before grinning at Richie and making his way off the stage and back to the table. Richie blows him a kiss once he’s seated, and then Richie is off, starting with the opening line of his set.

When he’s on stage, Richie feels like an entirely different person. He somehow simultaneously puts on a show, adlibs his show based on audience reactions, and makes mental notes of what landed well and what didn’t. There are a million things running through his mind at once, and Richie is always amazed that he doesn't pass out on the spot sometimes.

Richie smiles and points at Morgan when she lets out a whoop as he tells the story of how he challenged her to an arm wrestle and was immediately defeated within five seconds of meeting her. He smirks at Eddie for the entire bit that revolves around Eddie’s biceps, laughing as Bev keeps poking Eddie’s arms from where she’s seated next to him. The audience groans with laughter when he tells the story of how he tried to pop a wheelie in Eddie’s wheelchair, only to end up on the ground with the wheelchair turned on its side. Each and every bit gets the exact reaction Richie wanted out of the audience. There’s laughing and crying and cheering, and Richie ribs on both himself and Eddie enough that the audience is practically in stitches of laughter by the end of the set. Richie feels like he’s floating as he wraps up, waving at the crowd and taking a little awkward bow as they continue to cheer for him. He feels his eyes starting to prick with unshed tears of pride, pride for himself and for Eddie and for the association and the success of both the event and of his set.

Richie glances over at Eddie, and he sees that his eyes are shining with unshed tears. He is smiling at Richie like Richie hung the moon, and he blows Richie a kiss and mouths ‘I love you’ at him when he notices that Richie is watching him.

Richie waves to the crowd one more time before making his exit from the stage. He glances at Eddie and nods at the side entrance of the banquet room that leads out into a hallway of the hotel. He doesn't wait to see if Eddie got his hint and is following him; he slips out of the door and walks a few feet down the hall before leaning against the wall. He tips his head back so it rests on the wall, and he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath as the adrenaline from the past hour starts to come down.

Richie doesn't really like to self-evaluate his shows. He usually leaves that to the press and to the fans and reviewers on Twitter. But he thinks that was probably one of his best shows yet. It was different, more personal than he’s been in the past, but the audience was loud and receptive and giving Richie the feedback he needed to think that it maybe, just maybe, was a success.

Richie slides down the wall until he’s seated on the ground, his legs spread in front of him as the adrenaline finally wears off and he finally manages to catch his breath again. He loosens his tie to give his neck a chance to breathe, and he feels the pressure immediately released from his body as he pops the top two buttons of his shirt.

Richie hears the door open, and he glances over and sees Eddie making his way towards him. He pauses in front of Richie, his eyebrows knit with concern as he looks down at Richie on the ground.

“You okay?” Eddie asks, locking the brakes of his chair and leaning forward to look at him. Eddie rests his elbows on his knees, bending forward to get a closer look at Richie. Richie can tell that he’s watching his face for any signs of distress, so Richie gives him a soft smile to let him know that he’s alright.

“Yeah,” Richie whispers. He pushes his hands against the ground and sits up a little straighter, dusting his hands off on the front of his pants before looking back up at Eddie. “Just winding down.”

“It was so good, sweetheart,” Eddie says, still watching Richie’s face. “So, so good. I was so proud of you.”

Richie smiles at him again, and he feels his eyes pricking with unshed tears again. He takes his glasses off and rubs the back of his hand against his eyes to collect any stray tears before they make their way down his cheeks.

“Hey, hey,” Eddie says quickly, sitting up straighter and unlocking his brakes so he can get closer to Richie. He holds his arms out before dropping them again, looking around and letting out a frustrated grumble. “Rich, can you – I want to hold you but I can’t from up here; I’ll tip if I lean forward anymore.”

Richie stands up and looks around, noting a small couch at the end of the hallway. His knees still feel shaky as he continues to come down from his adrenaline high, and he doesn't trust them to support him in any kind of low squat or kneel that’s necessary to get to Eddie’s level. He nods at the couch, and they make their way over towards it. Richie sits down and Eddie quickly and easily transfers onto the couch next to him before wrapping his arms around him, holding Richie close to his chest. He presses a kiss into Richie’s hair, and Richie fists the front of his shirt, knowing that Eddie will probably complain about the wrinkles in a few minutes.

Richie wraps an arm around Eddie’s neck and let’s himself be held. Eddie squeezes him, and Richie nuzzles his face into his shoulder as he feels another wave of emotion overcome him. Eddie hums against his hair and just let’s Richie have his small cry against his shoulder, his hand rubbing up and down Richie’s back.

“I’m so proud of you,” Eddie says again into Richie’s hair. “Everyone loved it, Rich. I really think this was your best one yet.”

Richie feels so much love and happiness right now in this moment. He’s worked hard the past few months with writing and working and volunteering, and Eddie has worked just as hard to help plan this event and to keep Richie from throwing in the metaphorical towel and giving up comedy all together. He’s proud of them and what they’ve overcome, both now and during the past eight years.

Richie finishes up his little cry fest, letting it continue for just a few minutes longer before he wipes his eyes again and relaxes against Eddie’s chest. He puts his glasses back on and takes a deep breath, focusing on the feeling of Eddie’s hand still rubbing against his back.

“We good now?” Eddie asks after a few more minutes of silence, when it’s obvious that Richie’s breathing has evened out.

“Yeah, sorry, it’s just. You know how the adrenaline makes me sometimes,” Richie stutters out, smiling as he feels Eddie press another kiss into his hair.

“I know,” Eddie says, because he does know.

They head back into the room ten minutes later, after a few kisses are exchanged and Richie’s tie is back in place. True to his word, Richie’s dinner plate is still on the table, and Richie is starving just as Eddie predicted.

Richie finishes his dinner as dessert is passed out. Eddie is chatting away with Bev and Bill about his adaptive basketball game that he has coming up this week, and Richie takes a bite of his chocolate cake and just watches him. He loves to see Eddie interacting with his friends, laughing and chatting and throwing out swear words when necessary. It’s just so very _Eddie_ , and Richie wants Eddie to be nothing but himself at all times. He doesn't want him any other way.

As the silent auction continues and the casino games are played, people trickle over towards Richie and Eddie to compliment Richie on his set and to shake Eddie’s hand for helping with such a nice event and giving such a nice introduction. Richie signs autographs and takes pictures, smiling as Eddie watches him with such pride and love in his eyes. Richie’s heart feels full, and he hopes this feeling lasts for a while.

As the silent auction ends and the music gets a little louder, people start to make their way out onto the dancefloor that was created by shifting and rearranging some of the tables. Richie’s manager comes over and shakes his hand, telling him that the set was amazing and he’s glad they’re using it for both the live shows and the Netflix special. He promises to call Richie tomorrow and they can discuss it more, and then he leaves Richie to enjoy the rest of his night.

Richie bops to the music in his seat next to Eddie, his head bopping and his foot thumping up and down with the beat. His hand is resting on Eddie’s thigh, and Eddie’s head beats to the music as he looks over and grins at Richie.

“You can dance if you want,” Eddie tells him.

“Nah,” Richie replies with a shrug. “I do not have enough fucking energy left for that, man. Being on stage just drains me.”

Eddie hums, resting his hand on top of Richie’s that’s still on Eddie’s thigh. Richie grins and watches as Bev twirls Ben and drops him into a low dip. He thinks it’s probably getting late, and guests have been trickling out for the past half-hour now.

He’s startled out of his thoughts by the press of Eddie’s lips against his cheek. “I’m going to say goodbye to Luke and Morgan,” Eddie whispers into his ear. “I’ll be right back.”

Richie nods and turns his head to press a small kiss to his lips, and then Eddie is rolling away. Richie grins as Bev beckons him to the dance floor and, okay, maybe he has enough energy for just _one_ dance with his friends. He lost his jacket an hour ago, and his tie is now loosened as Bev uses it to pull him out onto the dance floor. Richie laughs and lets himself be tugged into the center of the group, letting himself be surrounded by the whoops and cheers of his loud friends.

Richie stumbles back to the table once the song ends. Eddie is already back with two fresh glasses of wine. He’s resting his chin on his hand and watching Richie with soft eyes, smiling as Richie sits down next to him and takes a sip of the wine.

“Ready to head out once we’re done with these?” Richie asks, holding his wine glass up and taking another sip.

“Mm,” Eddie hums. “Sure. After the next song.”

They finish their wine in silence, and Richie blinks as the first notes of the song start to play. He looks over at Eddie, who gives him a small smile and reaches over to take Richie’s hand. Richie scoots his chair closer to Eddie and wraps an arm around his shoulders.

“You sneaky shit,” Richie whispers into his ear. “Did you really request our wedding song?”

Eddie hums and rests his forehead against Richie’s. “Maybe. You have no proof. It’s a good song; anybody could have requested it.”

Eddie kisses him, his hands coming to hold both sides of Richie’s face. Richie kisses him back and feels himself relax, all the adrenaline of the night finally seeping out of him as Eddie kisses him. He knows this is just the start of a busy time for him. He’ll have live shows and the Netflix special, which will probably lead to some interviews and talk shows. The paparazzi will be back with a vengeance once everything takes off again, he’s sure, and that’ll just be one more thing for him to worry about.

But for now, he’s content to just sit here with Eddie, who loves him now and will love him forever. They’re the best team Richie could have asked for, and they have been since they were kids. It’s always been Richie and Eddie against the world, and Richie is always thankful that’s still the case.

Eddie yawns against his mouth as the song ends, pulling back and laughing as he covers his yawn with his hand. “Sorry,” he says as another yawn escapes. “Just been a long day.”

“Come on, hot stuff,” Richie says as he stands up and starts to wheel Eddie towards their friends to say goodbye. “Time for bed, I think.”

They say their goodbyes and make their way up to their hotel room. Richie makes fun of Eddie for being such an old man and getting tired so early, even though it’s past midnight, and Eddie gives him the finger as he slides the keycard into the door of their hotel room. They undress in sleepy silence and once they’re settled into bed, Richie wraps his arms around Eddie’s waist. Eddie hums and Richie presses his nose into Eddie’s shoulder and presses a kiss to it.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” Eddie mumbles, his eyes already drifting shut with sleep after the long day. “Love you. Proud of you.”

“Love you too, baby,” Richie murmurs, and they both fade off to sleep.

* * *

Richie wakes up wrapped around Eddie. He glances down at him and sees that he’s still fast asleep, his mouth slightly open with a small trail of drool hanging out of his mouth. Cute.

Richie leans over to grab his glasses from the nightstand and checks the time. It’s past noon, but they booked the hotel room for two nights so there wouldn’t be any rush for them to leave in the morning. Richie knows that Eddie gets exhausted after busy days like yesterday, and he wanted him to be able to sleep for as long as he needs to.

Richie rolls onto his back, smiling as Eddie grumbles in his sleep and clings to him. Richie helps him position so his head is pillowed against his chest, and then reaches over with his free hand to grab his phone and check his email and texts. His other hand rubs gently at Eddie’s back, soothing him back into a restful sleep as he sags into Richie’s chest.

He opens his email app and scrolls through, ignoring the spam emails and opening the one email from his manager. Richie is expecting it to be about yesterday, but he didn’t actually check the title of the email, so he’s surprised when he sees it’s about his script that he sent off weeks ago.

Richie reads the email quickly, then again, slower, to make sure that he read it correctly. His brain is almost not awake enough to fully process what the emails says, so he reads it again, and then again, before finally accepting that the words aren’t actually changing on the screen.

Netflix is interested in his script. Screenplay. His thing, whatever it is; his little secret project that he was working on for weeks with no real goal in sight. Richie really should figure out exactly what it’s called and how to properly format it if he’s going to be writing more. Which, it sounds like he might be, because they want to make it a Netflix Original Series. They want him to write more episodes. They maybe even want him to act in it.

Richie drops his phone on the bed next to him and looks up at the ceiling, letting the words wash through his mind. His manager set up a meeting for them on Monday morning so they can discuss the details, but he said they’re in as long as Richie is. Richie’s little side project is going to be a show.

Richie lets out a breath and feels his face break out into a smile. He pumps his free hand in the air, silently celebrating so that he doesn't wake Eddie up yet. He wants to tell him right fucking now, but he wants him to get the sleep that he needs. So, he lets Eddie keep sleeping against his chest for another hour, and Richie puts the TV on with the sound muted to distract himself and to keep himself from vibrating out of the bed.

He orders room service after an hour of listening to his stomach grumble, waffles and pancakes and scrambled eggs and bacon, and he slowly extracts himself from Eddie’s octopus-grip when he hears the gentle knock on the door. He thanks the man for delivering it and brings it into the room, setting it on the bed as he leans against the headboard as he starts to eat.

Like a dog with a steak, Eddie immediately wakes up as Richie takes the lid off the tray of bacon, sniffing the air. His eyes immediately track towards the tray of food on the bed. “Did you get bacon?” Eddie mumbles into the pillow, lifting his head up to try and look at what’s on the tray.

“Of course,” Richie laughs, reaching over to Eddie to help him sit up. Eddie situates himself against the headboard, and Richie moves the tray between them. “It’s amazing how instantly you wake up when you smell food.”

Eddie gives him the finger and grabs a piece of bacon. “Time s’it?” He asks with his mouth full, grabbing another piece of bacon from the plate.

“Almost 1:30,” Richie says, taking a bite of waffle.

“You been up a while?”

“Couple of hours,” Richie replies, trying to sound casual when he really just wants to spill his news. “Got an email from my manager.” And, okay, maybe he is just going to spill his news immediately anyway.

“Oh! About the set?” Eddie asks, grabbing the plate of waffles from Richie’s grasp and starting to eat the rest of them. Richie grumbles at him but moves on to the eggs.

“Ah, no,” Richie says. “About my, uh. My script?”

Eddie blinks up at him, his fork midway between his plate and his mouth. “You’re what?” He deadpans, raising an eyebrow at Richie.

“My script, yeah, that secret thing I was working on?” Richie says it like a question, like he’s not sure what else he’s supposed to say.

“Oh,” Eddie replies, bringing his fork to his mouth. “Okay, that’s not what I thought your little secret project was, but it’s not that surprising when I think about it.”

“I sent it to him a few weeks ago,” Richie continues. “And he said it was good, so then he started showing it to people and, uh. Netflix is interested in it? They want it to be a Netflix Original Series?”

Eddie drops his fork, turning his head to fully look at Richie with wide eyes. “Rich!” He shouts, causing Richie to jump in surprise. “What the fuck, man!?”

Richie laughs, his heart still pounding from his sudden startle. “Sorry?”

“Don’t fucking apologize, asshole,” Eddie says with a huff. “You could have at least said you were writing something good! Give you husband some warning or something!”

“How was I supposed to know it was good!” Richie laughs. “I thought it was shit, man. I only thought it might be good when my manager said it was good, but then I didn’t want to make a big deal about it until I knew something might actually come from it.”

Eddie hums, setting his fork on the tray and moving it towards the end of the bed. He scoots closer to Richie and wraps his arms around him, resting his head on his chest. “That’s awesome though, Rich,” Eddie says, pressing a kiss to Richie’s chest. “I’m proud of you. What’s it about?”

“It’s, ah, this is also why I was nervous to show you,” Richie says slowly. He grabs his laptop from the nightstand and opens it, pulling open the document. “It’s roughly based on you? Roughly, like, it’s not _about_ you, but you – inspired it, I guess?”

“Me?” Eddie asks, looking up at Richie with those wide eyes of his.

“Yeah, of course,” Richie huffs. “You are in literally every single thought I have, Eds.”

Eddie blushes a little and ducks his head down, but he’s glancing over towards Richie’s computer. “Can I see it now?”

“Yeah,” Richie says, handing him the laptop. And then he starts rambling. “I think it’s probably like a comedy? But not like a sitcom. And it might have like, maybe a hint of drama? I don’t know, I just wanted it to be realistic, but. It’s about a guy who uses a wheelchair and just kind of lives his life? I don't know how to explain it, really, I just – you amaze me, Eds.” Eddie’s eyes are reading the pages as he listens to Richie, and Richie runs a hand through Eddie’s hair.

“I wanted something that didn’t exploit having a disability, you know? And I guess working with the support group and volunteering for the association made me realize there’s like, very little in the media that tackles it in a realistic light, and –”

Richie’s rambling is cut off as Eddie leans up and kisses him, his hand cupping the back of Richie’s head as his mouth presses hard against his. Richie feels his head swirl, both from surprise and from the usual lightheadedness he feels when Eddie kisses him. Richie grabs the back of Eddie’s shirt, holding him close as Eddie deepens the kiss.

Eddie pulls back with a gasp, his lips red and swollen from the intensity of the kiss.

“Uh,” Richie says, watching as Eddie licks his lips.

“Rich,” Eddie says, his voice hoarse. “I think it’s amazing. And everything you said is true, and it _is_ needed, and. Rich. _Richie.”_ Eddie gives up trying to talk and buries his face in Richie’s shoulder, his hands fisting the front of Richie’s shirt

“I just love you, and I love seeing who you are and how far you’ve come,” Richie says with a shrug as Eddie presses a kiss to his shoulder. “That was the main inspiration.”

“I just – this is going to be a show, Richie. People are going to watch it.”

“Yeah,” Richie says. “And they maybe want me to act in it? That part wasn’t so clear, though, but there’s a meeting on Monday.”

“What the fuck, Richie?” Eddie asks again with a little laugh. He lifts his head up and looks at Richie, and his eyes are shining with tears as he smiles at him. “Rich . . .”

“You’re not mad?” Richie asks, just to clarify, even though he’s pretty sure Eddie would have yelled at him by now if he was actually mad.

“No, god no, Rich,” Eddie says instantly. “I’m just – I’m so proud of you. Look at what you’ve done, sweetheart. A few months ago you were whining about how nothing felt right and now you – you wrote a _script_ , and you’re going to have a show that you might act in, and you have a new set that’s amazing and you lead support groups and –”

“Stop making me sound like a busy body,” Richie interrupts with a huff, but he’s smiling as Eddie kisses his cheek. “I have a reputation of lazy shithead to uphold, you know.”

“That is not your reputation and you know it,” Eddie says, pressing another kiss to his lips before turning back to the laptop to read the rest of the document.

“I know,” Richie replies, letting Eddie finish reading in silence. He does know. He knows that his passion leaks into everything he does, and he really does try his hardest as long as he feels like he isn’t wasting his time. And with Eddie as his passion and underlying every single thing he does, Richie at least now knows that everything he produces and creates will at least have _some_ good characteristics.

He knows he wouldn’t be here without Eddie. He wouldn’t be in this hotel room, he wouldn’t be married or writing a script/screenplay thing. He wouldn’t have a new set that actually _means_ something to him, and he may not even be writing his own material. But, he also wouldn’t be nearly as content as he feels right now, as Eddie reads what he wrote with a smile on his face and love in his eyes.

“This is really fucking good, Rich,” Eddie says once he gets to the end of the document. “I’m not surprised Netflix wants to pick it up.”

And Richie feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, because everything he does, he wants it to have Eddie’s stamp of approval. He is Richie’s best and worst critic, and Richie wants nothing else but for Eddie to be proud of him.

Eddie closes the laptop and wraps his arms around Richie again, holding him close as Richie clings to him. Richie inhales as he buries his nose in Eddie’s hair, letting himself relax into Eddie’s embrace as he lets his husband hold him.

Richie remembers showing up at Jade of the Orient over eight years ago and seeing Eddie standing in the restaurant with his back to Richie. He remembers banging the gong so that Eddie would turn around and give him attention, and he remembers feeling like a teenager again as he poked and prodded at all of Eddie’s last nerve endings just so Eddie would pay attention to him. Both teenage Richie and Richie from eight years ago would not believe that he would be sitting in a hotel bed and happily married to Eddie Kaspbrak. All he’s ever wanted was Eddie’s love and attention, and the fact that he has it makes him feel like he won the lottery.

“Is your title from another fucking Kodaline song?” Eddie asks after a moment, breaking Richie out of his thoughts.

“Maybe,” Richie replies. “What’s it to you, asshole?”

“Your taste in music reveals how much of a fucking sap you are,” Eddie laughs, but he leans in and kisses him anyway, and if Richie were to die like this, at least he would die a happy man.

Maybe he is a sap, but he doesn’t really care. He’s got a new comedy set, a Netflix special and now, a Netflix Original Series to worry about. Being a sap is the least of his problems.

I’VE GOT YOU

WRITTEN BY: RICHIE TOZIER

SUMMARY: Declan Stanczak might be having a midlife crisis. He’s perpetually single. He drops his coffee at least once a week. He yells at drivers who cut in front of him, he has friends who care about him, and he needs the right wheel of his wheelchair fixed as soon as possible before the squeaking drives him absolutely insane.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and sticking around for my ramblings <3 
> 
> As always, you can find me @edskasper on twitter.


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